


Sliding into home

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball, Broken Bones, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, heckling and crankiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall and Louis have been on the same baseball team for two years, and they've been fucking for nearly that long. But when Louis gets hurt and can't play for a while, he's cranky and in need of soothing. Niall helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sliding into home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/gifts).



> For stigmata, who asked for a baseball AU. And I really love baseball, so I really hope you like this. <33 
> 
> Thanks to J for the last-minute beta, and L and M for the cheerleading. Any further mistakes or handwaving about baseball in Britain is my own.

"My little sisters pitch better than you!" Louis calls from the dugout. Niall rolls his eyes and misses the days when Louis had a catcher's mask over his face to shut him up. Since he broke his thumb stealing third a month ago, he's been coming to every practice and heckling the entire time. At first he tried to be a bit creative, but now he's just pointlessly cranky. And it doesn’t help that they’ve lost their last three games and their hold on a spot in the NBL championships is slipping. Niall will be massively grateful when he trades his cast for a brace tomorrow and can get back on the field some.

Niall throws a glorious curveball that shuts Louis up for a hot second, and Liam goes down swinging. "Brilliant pitch, mate!" says Liam. He doesn't seem to mind that Niall's struck him out three times today.

Harry should be up next, but he's currently sat on the third base line, mesmerised by a pigeon pecking along the edge of the stands, as though there aren’t literally thousands of similar pigeons shitting all over this part of North London every day. "Harry Styles, get your little bum to the plate right now!" calls Paul.

Harry scrambles to his feet and spooks the pigeon, which flutters off towards the fence. In the dugout, Louis is starting to fidget, rubbing at the knees of his uniform trousers like they might be dirty. But the only part of practice Louis's been allowed to participate in today is running sprints in the outfield, and his trousers are spotlessly white still. There’s really no point in him even putting on the uniform when he’s not going to get out on the field, but his arse looks so good that Niall can’t really complain. He’s a man of simple needs.

Niall throws Harry a tidy fastball that zooms straight into Zayn’s glove, and Harry nearly topples over swinging at it. Harry’s not a bad shortstop, all in all, but he almost always looks like he’s on the verge of injuring himself, and Niall worries for him a bit. Zayn gives him a sign and he tries out his change-up next, the newest pitch in his arsenal and one he’s still mastering. It goes wild, off to Zayn’s right in the dirt, clanging dully into the fence.

“What was that?” calls Louis. “Did you lose the plate, Horan? Shall we buy you a map?”

“Shove it, you cunt!” Niall yells back.

“Oi! Keep it clean, lads,” Paul tells them, and if this were an actual game, Niall would be sat on the bench for the rest of it. Thankfully there’s no one around to hear his swearing now besides the lads, and they’ve heard worse of a night out. Louis makes a rude gesture from the dugout behind Paul’s back. Niall rolls his eyes and tries his change-up again. This time it thwacks straight into Zayn’s glove.

Harry hits the next one, but it goes foul and startles his pigeon friend back to the third base line. “Sorry!” calls Harry. “It was, like, a foul for a fowl.”

Louis boos openly at that, and Niall can’t even blame him. He’s glad when practice ends. Normally he loves being out on the field and getting some work in, but today, all he can see is Louis fidgeting on the bench, vibrating with energy he’s not allowed to use yet.

“All right,” says Paul finally. “Hit the showers, lads.”

Niall’s tired and hot when he gets into the dugout and slings an arm around Louis’s shoulders. Louis purses his lips and tenses like an angry cat but doesn’t pull away. “Reckon we could wait until everyone else has finished with the showers,” offers Niall quietly. “Have a little soapy fun by ourselves.”

“Why should I even bother showering when I didn’t fucking do anything?” says Louis.

Niall kisses him on the cheek. “Because you owe me a blowjob after talking all that shit when I was on the mound.”

Louis’s tight little frown only hardens at that.

“And because you ran as much as any of us did earlier, and I can smell it on you.” He licks at the base of Louis’s neck, tangy with sweat. Under different circumstances, Louis would just go along and laugh it off, but now he only gets pricklier, shrugging out from under Niall’s hand and heading for the clubhouse without a backward glance.

Niall catches him up before he makes it as far as the actual lockers, everyone else already clanging and clattering in the direction of the showers, and maybe that makes it worse on Louis: he’s having a proper strop, and no one seems to notice or care, the rest of the lads walking around him like a rock in the middle of a stream.

Niall has to lunge for him to hug him, but he does it, burying his face in the back of Louis’s neck and rocking him side to side. Niall would absolutely dance with Louis if he had to, waltz him across the locker room if he thought it would make Louis laugh. He’s done it before.

“Come on, Lou,” Niall coaxes. “Let me take you home then. You don’t want to stand around here peeking at other boys’ willies.”

“Mine’s pretty impressive though,” says Harry, still untying his cleats on a bench. Everyone else has stripped off and shuffled into the showers. “I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to peek at it.”

“Thanks very much for that important contribution, Harry,” says Louis. “What if I’d like to hang round and gawk at Harry naked, Niall? Had that occurred to you?”

“Nope,” says Niall cheerfully. “I reckon all of us have seen enough of Harry’s willy to last a lifetime. No offence, Haz.”

Harry kicks off his second cleat and starts peeling off his socks. “None taken.”

“Come home with me, Lou,” Niall says softly. “I’ll take such good care of you. Scented candles, bit of a massage, nothing hard on your thumb.” Louis had spent a good four or five days pretending he couldn’t even wank with his grievous injury, and Niall had indulged him for a while before pointing out that he was well aware Louis hadn’t hurt his dominant hand.

Louis uncoils a little, and Niall smiles into his shoulder. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

 

They’ve been playing baseball together for two and a half seasons, and they’ve been fucking for almost that long, but living together is still new. Niall is getting used to Louis’s mess, and even amidst the sulks and stroppiness, he can see Louis trying to improve. He won’t do the washing up because of his hand, but he’d hung the laundry to dry while Niall was working on Monday, and he’s cleared the coffee table of footie mags and roughly a dozen empty mugs since then. If he doesn’t see the point of making the bed, well, that leads to less spunk on the duvet when they decide to tumble into bed as soon as Louis gets home from work.

This afternoon, though, Niall tugs off his dusty cleats by the door and once Louis’s toed off his trainers, Niall steers him directly into the bathroom. He backs Louis into the sink and kisses him hard, hands settling on his hips as Louis sighs and starts to kiss him back. Niall’s tongue presses between Louis’s lips, and Louis’s hands come round to untuck Niall’s uniform top, fingers sliding over Niall’s sweaty skin. It’s been a hot day, the sort of day they weren’t quite ready for in June, and Niall feels the fabric sticking as Louis peels it off him, breaking the kiss to chuck it against the door. Louis’s cast scratches a bit as he drags his hands up Niall’s sides, and the look of fierce annoyance is gone as he nuzzles back into Niall’s open mouth.

Nothing softens Louis up like kissing, Niall’s learnt in the last two years, and he loves when Louis is gentle with him, sweetly needy. He runs short nails up Louis’s sides, making him squirm, and then gets his hands around the tight muscles in Louis’s shoulders, squeezing gently. Being injured has tightened him up like playing baseball never could. Louis moans as Niall digs his fingers in harder, tipping forward until their foreheads touch. “Fuck, that’s good,” says Louis.

Niall could say “I told you so”, but he doesn’t. “Get your kit off, alright? We’ll have a shower and then I’ll do it properly.”

Louis shucks off his clothes and wraps his cast in a plastic bag as Niall strips out of his trousers and detaches his cup, which is a bit more delicate as an operation when he’s half-hard. Niall’s in nothing but his jockstrap when he slides his arms around Louis’s waist again, grinding his dick against the naked swell of Louis’s arse. 

“You planning to shower in that then?” Louis asks. “Feeling a bit shy?”

Niall makes a cheeky grab for Louis’s dick. “Got lots to live up to, haven’t I?”

Louis rocks back into him a bit. “You’re alright.”

Niall turns on the shower and gets in while it’s still warming up, chucking his jockstrap at Louis’s head. The cool water makes him shiver, and his nipples perk up into hard little points, but he can already feel the tackiness of sweat washing off him. He sighs and leans his head into the thickest part of the spray. The shower curtain rustles as Louis climbs into the tub behind him, and then he’s pressed tight to Niall’s back, rubbing a bar of soap over the cut of Niall’s hip, swirling it down between his thighs and back up along the solid length of Niall’s cock. Niall turns around to kiss him.

They won’t have that much hot water, so mostly they use the shower for actually showering, but Louis’s good hand goes everywhere as he lathers Niall up, tickling into his armpits and slipping down the crack of his arse, Niall giving a couple of tugs at Louis’s prick in return. Louis works shampooed spikes into Niall’s hair before the water flattens them out again. They share the same toiletries now, because Louis has no brand loyalty and barely remembers to buy toilet roll, and Niall likes that they smell like each other, that their shared scent is in the pillows and towels until he washes them. They rinse off as the water is starting to stutter back to lukewarm, and Niall fumbles for a towel from the back of the door.

Niall nearly trips over a pair of Louis’s Vans in their doorway to their bedroom, focused as he is on snogging Louis breathless. “Lie down,” he says, nodding towards the bed. “I promised you a massage.”

“You also said I owed you a blowjob. Do you want that first?” Louis swipes his wet hair back off his forehead and lifts his eyebrows. It’s probably the closest Louis will ever come to saying “sorry for being a twat all day”, and it’s all that Niall could want, honestly.

Niall grins. “If you like.” 

Louis presses his good hand to the centre of Niall’s chest, shoving him gently in the direction of the bed. He sits down on the edge, and Louis goes to his knees without preamble, folding up so neatly between Niall’s spread thighs. Louis wraps his hand around Niall’s cock, stroking a few times as he looks up from under his eyelashes. Niall rubs his thumb along the seam of Louis’s thin lips, and Louis’s tongue flicks out against it.

When Louis goes down on Niall, he does it slow and deep, puffing hot little breaths through his nose until he can relax his throat to take Niall all the way. It’s bloody awe-inspiring for Niall, whose gag reflex makes his blowjobs shallow or brief most times. He slides his thumb along the underside of Louis’s jaw, feeling him swallow from the inside and outside at once, the little shift of his throat. Louis pulls off a bit to lick at the head of Niall’s cock, digging his tongue into the tender slit before swallowing it all down again. Niall groans and has to open his eyes to watch Louis take it, his mouth stretched wide. “So good, darlin’,” whispers Niall, mussing Louis’s hair with his fingers. Louis makes a devastating little noise in response, the echo of it tingling in Niall’s balls.

He gets worked up fast in Louis’s mouth, and everything Louis does just makes it harder not to come. He rolls Niall’s balls in his right hand, his left pressed to Niall’s inner thigh, plaster scraping lightly as he spreads Niall wider to give himself more room. When he pulls off Niall’s dick to suck at his balls, filling his mouth with the plush weight of them, one then the other, Niall nearly slides off the bed, pushing his hips forward for Louis’s mouth.

“Steady, love,” says Louis, his voice rough from Niall’s cock. He squeezes Niall’s thigh and goes back to wanking him for a moment. “You’re close, yeah?”

“Want me to come on your face?” asks Niall, cupping his cheek.

Louis looks shyly down. “Yeah.” He still goes red at the thought, and Niall wonders if he always will, if there will always be things that are hard for him to ask for. Louis strokes Niall faster, fingers slippery with his own spit, and Niall leans back on his elbows, giving himself leverage to rock a bit into Louis’s grip. He gives a little gasp as he starts to come, and Louis shuts his eyes as the first stripe hits right across his cheek. He catches some of Niall’s load in his mouth, then a streak across his chin, wanking him through every last pulse of it.

“Not entirely sure what the point of showering was,” says Louis wryly, licking at his upper lip.

“C’mere, I’ll clean you off.” He pulls Louis up into his lap in an unsteady straddle, lacing his hands behind Louis’s lower back so he doesn’t topple over. Their kisses are sloppy with Niall’s come, and Niall savours them, sucking at Louis’s tongue. He’s still a bit sticky in the end, but neither of them mind.

Niall nods at Louis’s hard cock, poking up thickly from his lap. “Do you want a massage or should I give you a hand with that first?”

Louis licks his lips. “Leave it,” he says. “I want to wait.” Niall doesn’t quite understand the urge that Louis has to hold himself back, to make himself wait until his dick is practically sore with it. But he shoves the crumpled duvet out of the way to give Louis room to lie in the centre of the bed, and Louis lies down on his belly without so much as a flinch, even though he must be lying directly on top of his still-stiff cock, sliming the sheet with precome.

There’s massage oil in the bedside table, and Niall used to think it was a silly invention and not one he would be caught dead using, but since the first day he tried it out on Louis after a particularly rough game, he’s been sold on its usefulness. He spreads some on his hands and goes to work on Louis’s back, spreading the oil along the wings of his shoulder blades and down the furrow of his spine before he starts working Louis’s shoulders in earnest. Louis groans gratefully into the mattress, and Niall settles into a perch on Louis’s thighs so he can reach Louis’s shoulders, digging in deep with his thumbs. The sounds Louis makes are pure porn, and his hips twitch a little, like he can’t help grinding into the bed. Niall works on his back until his fingers are sore and Louis is soft and pliant beneath his hands, all the fight gone out of him.

“Haven’t gone to sleep, have you?” Niall asks, rubbing gently at the back of Louis’s neck.

“Still hard as a fucking rock,” says Louis. “So, no.”

“Reckon you could turn over and I’ll ride you?” offers Niall. This time the motion of Louis’s hips under him is more of a swivel and less of a twitch, and Niall has to kneel up to prevent being tipped sideways like a bull rider. “You like that idea, don’t you?”

“Sometimes you have good ideas,” Louis says. He manages to roll onto his back without dislodging Niall, and his dick bobs up shockingly hard against his belly. Niall has to get off him to fetch a condom and lube from the bedside table, and Louis gives his dick a couple of hard pulls while Niall’s rummaging through throat sweets and Ikea assembly instructions, feeling for the slippery shape of a condom. He minds Louis’s mess a bit more when he’s decided he needs Louis’s cock inside him and he’s thwarted by a drawer full of things that don’t help him achieve that.

“We’re not out of condoms, are we?” Niall asks. “Not that I mind blowing you instead, but…” He shrugs. Louis’s been on double shifts at the pub this week, and sex has been sort of cursory and quick between them in the short periods they’re both home and awake. Mostly it’s been sleepy late-night cuddles and promises of more later.

“I just bought some. They’re in my coat pocket still, I reckon,” says Louis. “Bugger.”

The flat’s not too big to sprint through on a hunt for condoms when the need arises, and Louis always flings his coat over the arm of the sofa when he comes in, so it’s not hard for Niall to find the box. When he gets back to the bedroom, Louis’s got a hand around his dick, and he’s stroking it slowly, down to the base and straight up to the tip, looking like he needs someone to hold him down and keep him from bucking up into his own grip.

“If you’d rather do it on your own, mate,” Niall says, “I’m more than happy to watch.”

“This is a team sport, Horan,” snaps Louis, laying his hand flat on the bed. “Get over here and help.”

Niall crawls back onto the bed, straddling Louis’s thighs again as he pops the cap on the lube.

“No, no,” says Louis, smacking his thigh. “Turn around. Let me do it. I could… I could eat you out.”

Niall shivers. He loves when Louis rims him, but it’s such intimate, focussed attention that he can sometimes barely stand it. Back when Louis was the new kid on the team, they’d all gravitated to him immediately, the loud, brash intensity of him, and they’d all vied for more of his attention. Niall had spent weeks trying his best not to stare at the curve of his arse in his uniform trousers, and he hadn’t even known what to do with himself when Louis asked him (just him!) to come by the pub one night when he was working. He’d made Niall taste test fruity cocktails and then snogged him in the alley behind the pub, made his intentions clear with his hands in Niall’s back pockets. “I wanna fuck you when you’re sober,” Louis had said, by way of asking for a second date. And that was that, pretty much. From that point, there was no real question of them being a couple, and Niall feels just fine with that sort of stability, the ease of coming home to this.

Louis’s tongue against Niall’s arsehole is flicking and squirming and making him moan, and while he’s crouched over Louis like this, it’s no trouble to suck the head of Louis’s cock into his mouth. “Fuck,” says Louis feelingly, and Niall knows just what he means. He’s basically sitting on Louis’s face while Louis licks and sucks at him, making him feel raw and open. That won’t get him wet enough for Louis’s cock though, and Niall reaches back to help Louis with the lube, squeezing out a thick gob of it into Louis’s hand. When Louis sneaks a lubed finger into him, Niall rocks back onto it, knowing Louis is watching the clench of his arsehole from right up close. When a second slick finger pries into his arse, he circles his hips, ready for more. Louis works into him gently, opens him up until Niall is gasping softly at every new push of his fingers.

When Niall’s sure he’s going to come from this alone and Louis’s dick is smearing precome across his lips, he looks over his shoulder and says, “Reckon maybe we should get on with it.”

Louis twists his fingers down mercilessly against Niall’s prostate. “Too much for you, eh?”

“Just the right amount,” replies Niall. He shifts his hips, slowly pulling away from the sweet intrusion of Louis’s fingers inside him. 

He rolls the condom onto Louis’s dick and is rubbing himself over it in the best reverse cowgirl he can muster when Louis bats at his thigh and says, “Wait. I want to see your face.” He turns round and settles himself on Louis’s thighs again. “Ah, there we are.” Louis looks so fond, and it still startles Niall sometimes, the way Louis can be such a whiny arsehole and then settle into this kind of quiet satisfaction. Niall gives a stroke to Louis’s cock while he’s there, smearing leftover lube on the condom, and then he goes up on his knees to snub the head of Louis’s cock against his arsehole, letting it rest there for a moment.

Niall takes a deep breath as he guides it into himself, loving that first stretch every time, the way he has to relax into it to take Louis inside. Louis watches him flushed and open-mouthed, and Niall does his best to make it a good view, sinking down slowly until their hips meet and Louis is settled right and deep into him. Everyone on the team used to take the piss about “pitching and catching”, but they’re good together in every configuration, bodies interlocking so easily.

“So tight for me, love,” says Louis, wrapping his good hand around Niall’s cock for a moment, making Niall clench down harder on him.

“Loosen me up then,” sighs Niall, settling onto his knees, getting solid leverage to lift himself off Louis’s cock and sink back down, rubbing himself just right. Louis looks up at him, eyes in pleased little slits, mouth tilted into a smile, and Niall is just full of him in every way, nearly bursting with feeling.

Louis rests his hand over the old scar on Niall’s knee, palm cupping the long stripe of it. Louis hadn’t even moved to London, let alone joined the Mets, during the spring Niall spent in surgery and physio, missing out on the start of what should have been his second season on the team, but when Louis slid into base and cried out six weeks ago, cradling his hand against his chest, Niall had felt a rush of familiar fear. He’d run onto the field against all the rules and got himself thrown out of the game, which was fine since he was just going to shove into the ambulance alongside Louis, while his thumb swelled up purple and disgusting. He’s very glad it hadn’t turned out to be anything more serious, but he couldn’t have known that at the time. He’d spent years thinking his knee was just a bit wonky before it ended in major surgery.

He moves as slowly as he can stand over Louis’s cock, working it into himself and letting Louis watch him do it. He loves the way it tugs at him as he circles his hips, the way he can make Louis moan with the slightest flex of his arsehole. There’s a rhythm building between them as Louis reaches for Niall’s cock again, urging him into a quick, shallow motion that rocks them together again and again. Louis can’t manage the lube one-handed, so Niall pours slick into Louis’s palm again, giving himself a tight, slippery space to fuck up into.

Louis’s clever fingers work him over, settle into a tight grip just under the head of Niall’s dick and squeeze. Niall gasps and fucks himself faster, their thighs slapping thickly together. Louis’s cheeks are going pink, and his eyes snap shut as he tries not to come. There are very few things that aren’t a competition in Louis’s eyes, and who comes first is one of the ones he takes most seriously—and one Niall doesn’t mind losing. He tips his head back and clenches tight on Louis’s dick, holding it deep inside him, right where he needs it. Louis swears and smacks his cast against the sheet.

“Careful,” says Niall. “You’ll need that hand.”

Louis scowls and flicks his thumbnail against the smeary slit of Niall’s dick, and that little flicker of pain tips Niall over the edge, makes his whole body lock up as he comes. Louis’s scowl morphs into something euphoric, and he lifts his hand away from Niall’s still-stiff dick to grip his thigh, fingers bruising tight. He bucks under Niall, giving one last hard, messy thrust before he comes.

They’ve learned the hard way that Louis is even worse at getting a condom off without two working thumbs than he is trying to open a bottle of lube with his teeth, so Niall peels it off for him and drops it in the bin. He kisses Louis’s cheek as he settles in beside him and doesn’t even worry about the mess of lube running down the crack of his arse as Louis pulls him into a cuddle.

“Tomorrow I’ll be free of this fucking thing,” he says, bumping Niall’s hip with his cast.

“We’ll all be fucking grateful for that, darlin’,” says Niall. “Dunno if you realise it, but you’ve been a pain in the arse these last few weeks. Moreso even than usual.”

Louis whacks him harder with the cast. “Shh! You’re ruining the moment.”

“Sorry.” He snuggles his head into Louis’s neck. “I’ll save it for when I can throw balls at you again.”

Louis even laughs a little bit at that. It’ll be a couple of weeks still before Louis’s playing whole games with them again, but even having him at batting practice will be a big step in the right direction.

 

Niall doesn’t stop grinning for several innings when Louis finally gets back on the field to play properly. Louis understands him like no other catcher ever has, and Niall trusts his signs as much as he trusts his own instincts. People who don’t understand baseball tend to think the catcher doesn’t do much, just sits behind the plate catching balls, but in a way the catcher’s the heart of their whole defence, shaping every at-bat with the pitcher. He strikes out six batters in a row, and he’ll be the one to get the credit for that, but they both know he’s never as good with anyone else catching. The solid thwap of the ball into Louis’s glove is music to Niall’s ears. 

Louis doesn’t even seem to mind that he has to wear his brace any time he’s not behind the plate. Louis hits a double into right field in the fifth inning, looks surprised by his own strength as he rounds first and Liam races home. With Niall pitching nine shutout innings, it turns out that one run is all they need to win, and Niall flings his arms around Louis after the last out.

“You know this one’s yours, right?” Niall says, narrowly avoiding the kind of PDA that has no place on the field. “Offence and defence. You killed it, Lou.”

Louis is flushed and grinning, fringe sticking to his forehead. “I always do,” he says, but he sounds relieved. 

Harry envelops them both with his long arms, and Niall takes his eyes off Louis to congratulate him. Harry tripped over his own feet making a catch in left field in the eighth and managed to hang on to the ball as he fell. It’s possibly the most characteristically Harry thing he’s ever done.

“Well played, lads,” says Paul, slapping them each on the back as they file into the clubhouse. “You really pulled together today.”

“Great speech, Paul,” says Louis. “Well said. Now let’s all go get pissed! First round’s on me as long as it’s cheap!”

Paul rolls his eyes, but Niall thinks every single one of them recognizes how important it is to have Louis back. He’s loud and brash and nothing is the same without him. Niall presses a sweat-salty kiss to Louis’s cheek. Louis smacks his bum in return, gives a little grope before anyone sees. “Good effort, Horan. You’ll make a fine player one day.”

“You too, Tommo. Love watching you with my balls.”

“And I love getting them in my hands.”

Niall’s about to snog him properly when Liam dumps a handful of ice down Louis’s top and slaps the back of Niall’s neck with his cold palm. “Save that for later, lads. We’ve got celebrating to do.”

Louis winks at Niall. The hand he’s got clutched at Niall’s waist says they’ll have plenty of time for celebrations of their own too.


End file.
